"He told Steppe that in certain contingencies he would kill him, before his servant could reach him; to his face!"
"What did Mr. Steppe think of it?" she found her voice to ask.
"Amused—and impressed, too. He says Sault wouldn't tell a lie, wouldn't do a mean thing to save his soul. That is something of a testimonial from a man like Steppe who, I am sorry to say, is inclined to be a little uncharitable."
Beryl folded her serviette; she looked to be absorbed in the operation.
"He was telling me that Sault was one of the finest mathematicians in the country. And he doesn't read or write! Of course, he writes figures and symbols perfectly. He attends every lecture that he can get to; a remarkable personality."
"Very."
"I thought you rather liked him?"
She started from her reverie. "Who—Ambrose?"
"Ambrose!"
"That is his name, isn't it?"